


Christian Weston Chandler in Survivor: Kujira-Jima

by Garfieldfan1



Category: Sonichu (Webcomic), Survivor (TV 2000)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Gen, Survivor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 18:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15588132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garfieldfan1/pseuds/Garfieldfan1
Summary: A story non-CWC followers can also enjoy. In Mid-2010, the internet's favorite tard went quiet for a bunch of weeks. Where did he go? What did he do? To an island for rent in Japan to play Survivor, of course! This is his journey through the greatest social game and nothing less. 39 days, 20 of the most bombastic Survivor contestants ever, one autistic wonder.





	Christian Weston Chandler in Survivor: Kujira-Jima

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the full first chapter; only the introduction. I'll update the chapter when I'm done. In the meantime, here is the introduction to the cast of Survivor: Kujira-Jima.

"I'm sorry, you've got to be shitting me."  
"These are the guys we cast, we gotta work with them the best we can."  
"Fine, but when we get our asses sued or canceled, I'm going to publicize your personal information."  
"Just do it, sir."  
The owner of the first voice stepped in front of the camera and it began rolling. It was Jeff Probst. He looked at his palm before beginning a spiel.  
"This is Kujira-Jima, an island for rent in Japan. This season on Survivor, 20 people are going to be staying here for the next few weeks. Ultimately, however, there can only be one. 39 days. 20 people. One survivor."

A traditional Japanese flute sounded, in place of the opening note, and the Survivor theme began, with the tribal choir accompanied by an accordion replacing the brass and, at one point, a faint cry of "Turn that shit off! Whose fucking idea was it to do the theme on an accordion?!" which caused the accordion to trail off and be replaced by the flute moments later.

Meanwhile, in realtime, twenty-two American citizens were on a raft bound for Kujira-Jima: The contestants, a cameraman and a backstage worker.  
The backstage worker looked at the contestants sitting around and asked, "Aren't you going to introduce yourselves to each other?"  
Nobody responded.  
"The boss wants you people to introduce yourselves to each other. Please introduce yourselves to each other or you _will_ be placed on _his_ team." the worker gestured to one of the contestants, who was asleep. He had been sedated after he assaulted the cameraman when he was told he couldn't bring his Game Boy.

The contestants immediately huddled into a circle. The backstage worker kicked the sleeping contestant awake and he too joined the group. He wasn't the first to introduce himself, but he was the first seen introducing himself in the final cut of the episode.  
The sleepy contestant was a slovenly white man in a grease-stained horizontally-striped, red-white-blue-white long-sleeved shirt that hugged his grotesquely plump physique. He also wore a pair of jeans that had begun to fray at the waist, requiring them to be held up with a belt, the buckle of which had a drawing pasted onto it: two unidentifiable, brightly-colored creatures on a pink background.  
"Y-Y'all should know me by now, but if no-- if you don't, I am Chrish'nwessonshandler, THE origin'l creator of S-Sonichu," he said.  
"Hold on. Say your name again, but for chris'sake say it right." said the backstage worker.  
"I am Christian Weston Chandler," Christian said slowly, "I'm 28, and y'all can call me-- y'all can call me Chris-chan." Rather than the proper pronunciation of -chan, he instead pronounced it was a short A like in Chandler.

The next person to introduce himself was a slightly tan man wearing khaki cargo shorts and a necklace, with several feathers strung onto it. "Brannon Layton. 27, I'm an EMT and--"  
"I'M NOT DONE!" Christian screeched. "I'm also a sixteenth Cherokian an'--"  
"YOU?" Brannon asked. "My grandpa was Apache, so I can tell you now, you look nothing like a native American. You're white like a notebook."  
"I GOT INDIAN BLOOD!" Christian wailed. "You STOP that RIGHT NOW! You need to just calm down, smoke'um peace pipe!"  
Brannon growled. "Excuse me? First off, it's _Cherokee_ , and second, what you just said is a little racist. Do you see a fucking pipe anywhere around here? Huh? And might I add, I find it _very_ hard to believe you are Native American in the slightest... paleface."  
"AH! AM! CHEROKIAN!" Christian screamed again, stamping his foot with each word. "If you're an Indian, then why aren't you named Shaved Bull or something like that?"  
"Why aren't _you_?"  
"ANSWER ME!"  
"Well," Brannon sighed, "I was. My father was _extremely_ drunk at my birth and decided to go out of the hospital and name me after the first thing he saw, and a few minutes later, I was christened Albanian Nurse Anally Fucking a Ukranian Bear Hound Layton. Now it's your turn."  
"NO!"

Brannon rolled his eyes and gestured to the next person to introduce himself. This person was a black man wearing a violet polo shirt, brown sweatpants and dress shoes. "Uh, hello. I'm Kenny. Ken Faraday-Connors, if you want to be specific. I'm 23, I'm a database administrator and--"  
Christian yelped and hid behind another contestant.  
"What's your problem?" Kenny asked.  
"Please-- Someone please don't-- don't let him b-bust a cap in my butt," Christian whimpered.  
Kenny scowled. "Go fuck yourself, asshole."  
Chris whimpered again and Kenny raised his fist, but Brannon grabbed his arm and tried to calm him while the next person introduced himself.

This contestant was a white man in a light blue dress shirt and grey dress pants, with the sleeves and legs rolled up.  
"Name's Roscoe, Howard Roscoe. I'm 24, and I'm a retail supervisor."  
"You look more like a progra-- you look like a coder," Christian interjected.  
"If it's any consolation, my uncle was a janitor for Sega in the late nine--"  
"YOUR UNCLE WORKS FOR SEGA?!" Christian asked, zipping over to Roscoe.  
Roscoe chuckled awkwardly. "As a cleaner, yes--"  
"ARE THEY GOING TO MAKE SONIC'S ARMS NORMAL AGAIN?!"  
Roscoe bashed his head against his hand in a particulary aggressive facepalm. "HE. WAS. A. JANITOR... HE. WAS. THERE. IN. THE NINETIES."  
Christian sighed in Roscoe's ear and returned to his place.

The next contestant was a man built like a bodybuilder, and who appeared to have just bathed in fake tan before departing, enough to tint the snake tattoo going down his right arm. He wore black boardshorts that transitioned by gradient to a white circle over the groin, red-tinted sunglasses, a maroon shirt tied around his waist by the sleeves and a necklace, with a pair of folded shutter shades hung from it like a trophy of battle with a fellow gym regular.  
"Good morning to you scrawny cunts. The people who come to me to have their cars fixed call me Fabian, and my real homies call me K-Fabe, but my real name's Karl Anderson. No, not that Karl Anderson." He leaned off the raft with a confident chuckle, dipped his hand in the water, ran it through his shoulder-length hair and wiped the excess moisture on his bare chin. "Started workin' out when I was 15. Now I'm 23, and I know you're all jealous of this six pack." he gestured to his abdomen.

The next man in line rolled his eyes. He was a black man in dark blue shorts and a red tanktop, with a LA Lakers cap, logo covered with duct tape, hung around the arm strap. Drawn in permanent marker on his tanktop was a caricature of a headless man in a wheelchair, a shower of blood spraying from his neck.  
"I'm Ian Rider, 24. I work retail." he said.  
"Hang on a minute," said Kenny, "weren't you the guy who tried to kill my brother?"  
"Not since last year," Ian replied, "I was sitting in bed thinking, 'am I even going to live till I'm 24? 'cause with what I do, I dunno.' And I decided, fuck it, I quit. I don't wanna get gunned down by some white dude with a badge that says he can, or by a black dude that can't. Sorry I tried to ice your brother, man."  
"We'll see if you are when it's between you and me."

After a few moments' silence, the next contestant introduced himself. He was a white man in a white t-shirt and green shorts.  
"Well, uh... Hi. My name's also Karl, Karl Langdon. I guess you guys will be calling me Langdon. I'm 20, and I'm a chef."

The next contestant was an older Texan man, with blue dress pants, a black tuxedo jacket with a missing button, well-worn flip flops and a red wifebeater, which was a couple of sizes too big and tucked into his pants, causing the arm bands to droop.  
"My name's Judas Isaac, or Jude to you folks. Last job I worked 'fore I retired was in jail, keepin' the criminals behind bars and beatin' the fear of God into them." He pounded his hand into his fist to emphasize the last point.  
"Y'awull won' me ta' teyull yew abou' Jaysus? Ah-wull git mah wahfe t'giddout da word o'the lower'd. HEY SIS! GIT TH'GOOD BOOK! WE GON' TEYULL THESE GENTS ABOUT WAH WE HATE READIN', BUT LOVE THE BAHBLE!" Fabian drawled, mocking Jude's southern accent. Everyone stared, save for a chuckling Christian.

The next contestant immediately began speaking once Christian stopped chuckling. He was a white man with bloodshot eyes and wore a black tanktop, running shoes with the laces undone and denim shorts.  
"So, I'm, uh... Stan. Stan Maynard, I think? I'm, like, 30. I dunno, dudes." He then placed two fingers to his mouth in a V shape and inhaled, as if to smoke a cigarette that wasn't there.  "And I do delivery driving."  
"What company, so we remember to never have a package delivered by them?" Fabian asked.  
Stan laughed. "Fuck if I know."  
"Are you high, mister?" asked Jude.  
"Nah, it's weed, bro," Stan replied with a chuckle.  
"Despicable," Christian muttered.

Eyes fell on the next person in the circle: a young white man wearing an orange hoodie and brown jeans. "Uh... Hi. I'm Archie Reyes, but, uh, where I'm from they just call me Arc." Archie laughed nervously, darting his eyes around to check that there were no disapproving looks. "19, accounting student."

Next was a white woman in a magenta jacket, black shorts and a sports bra.  
"Hi, my name's Erin Lincoln. I'm 20 and I work in interface design."  
"Uh, guys?" asked Arc. He motioned to Christian, who was lying on his face with his hand in his pants and was furiously shaking his arm around, not in a standard jerking motion.  
" ** _EY!_** " screamed the backstage worker, before hitting Christian with a rolled up newspaper. Christian tumbled off the raft.  
"HELP!" Christian cried, flailing wildly and splashing the others.  
"Fuck's sake, boss was right about not casting people who can't swim," the backstage worker muttered as he hauled the tard out of the water.

Meanwhile, the next contestant, a white woman wearing heavy makeup and a dress that trod the line between showing cleavage and total exposure, introduced herself. "I'm Shanon Piper, I'm 26, and I'm an, ah, exotic dancer."  
Christian, almost onto the raft, spotted Shanon. "She's beautiful," he muttered, and reached for his pants. Kenny leaned over, grabbed Christian's arm and tied his shirt sleeves together.

The next contestant was a white woman in matching denim jeans and jacket, with a light yellow tanktop underneath.  
"Hello, I'm Ivy Causey. 23, I'm a plumber."  
Christian scooted over to her on his butt. "Hi, sweetie, do you think you could--"  
"Alright, I'm gonna stop you right there," Ivy replied, holding up a palm, "First off, you are _not_ my boyfriend or my husband, so do _not_ call me sweetie. Second, you're not supposed to smell that putrid until a couple of weeks in. Third, no I won't, so fuck off."  
"Okay, honey," Christian replied, and scooted back to his spot.

Next was a tubby girl with her hair dyed pink and highlighter yellow, wearing a crumb-covered shirt from her favorite website, turned inside out to hide the logo, and short shorts that were not quite as wide as her legs, causing noticeable ripping at the seams.  
"I am Elisabeth Stephanie Stephanie Chlamydia Ursula Niagra Tennessee, that's spelled A-L-I-S-E-B-I-T-H S-T-I-F-A-N-I S-T-I-F-A-N-I C-L-U-M-Y-D-D-E-A U-E-R-Z-zero-E-L-E-R N-Y-E-G-O-R-A T-I-N-Y-S-I-E, and none of you fithy men and male sympathizers better forget it! I am 18 and I'm proudly unemployed and homeschooled!"  
"Alisebith Stifani Stifani Clumyddea Uerz0eler Nyegora Tinysie," Erin repeated in mild disbelief.  
"I DID NOT GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SAY MY NAME YOU FUCKING PENIS-LOVING SCUM!"  
"...Let's just call you Chlamydia, ok?" Arc asked nervously.  
"Fine. You don't deserve the rights to speak my real name with your flagrant mockery of the paralyzed and differently-abled by walking unassisted." Chlamydia scoffed.  
"Hold on now, is that your name or did you spell it out with military letters?" Fabian asked with a smug smirk.  
" **SCUUUUM!** " Chlamydia screeched, and attempted to slap Fabian. However, by the time she reached his face, it had degraded from a slap to a caress. Chlamydia yelped and screamed, " **HELP! RAPE!** "  
"Sit the fuck down!" said the next contestant, a buff hispanic woman in a light blue tanktop and black leggings, slapping her hands onto Chlamydia's ears simultaneously, causing her to promptly topple over.  
"Hilda..." the backstage worker warned.  
"What? I didn't hurt her, I just patted her head and she tripped," the contestant replied.

He shrugged and motioned for her to continue. "I am Hilda Iniguez," she said, "21 years old, I'm a coroner. Sadly, _she_ isn't quite dead." Hilda pointed to Chlamydia.

The gang looked over to the next contestant. She was a black woman in a hot pink shirt neatly tucked into a greyish-pink skirt, and was attempting to woo Christian.  
"C'mon, when we get there I wanna cook you up a feast," she whispered.  
Christian moaned.  
"I can scrub that shirt of yours until it's like the day you bought it."  
"Please leave me alone," Christian squeaked, his eyes pointed to the floor.  
"It's your turn," Hilda said, elbowing her.  
"Stereotypical bitch," Chlamydia muttered semi-consciously.  
"Oh!" said the pink-clad woman, "I'm Neri Blake! I'm 19 and I'm studying to be a surgeon!"

"Cassandra Aaron, you will call me Cass. I'm 25. I don't work because my _boyfriend_ brings home enough money to support us both. Any questions?" snapped a woman in a white dress and thousands of dollars' worth of jewelry. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "None? Good."  
Christian's jaw hung and he began salivating. "Wow, you're sexy," he said. Cass responded with a 'hmph' and turned away, arms folded.

"How are y'all?" asked the next contestant, a middle-aged white lady in a flowery button-up shirt and a long grey skirt, "My name's Pat McCay, I'm 42 and I own a restaurant!"

"I'm Sue," said an Asian girl in a red tunic and black skirt, with some kanji tattoos on her upper left arm, "My real name is Utsukushii Saigai, but that's what my friends call me. I'm 20, and I work in a bakery."  
Christian crawled over. "Well, hi, Sue, can you--"  
"No," Sue interjected with a sigh, "I was born in America and know no more about Japan than you do."  
Christian sighed back and looked at her tattoos, then back at her face. He puckered his lips, closed his eyes and leaned in, only to meet with Sue's hand. He sighed one more time and ceased his advance.

Last was an androgynous white person in a black t-shirt and white jeans. "I'm Jordan Sherman, 22, and I'm a librarian." They looked worriedly at Christian, who was ignoring them, much to their surprise and glee.

"Alright, that's everyone," said the backstage worker. "Now, we're approaching the shore." he rose a thumbs-up towards the island of Kujira-Jima, where a figure, Jeff Probst, had already reached the beach.

The raft soon beached and the contestants hopped off and made for Probst. Laboriously grabbing through his tied sleeves, Christian took a zip-lock sandwich bag from his pocket and removed the contents: A chain necklace with a clay sculpture depicting the head of a strange creature, one of the creatures on his belt buckle, hanging from it. It was similar in shape to Sonic the Hedgehog, but had the coloration, cheeks and ears of Pikachu. On the back of the necklace was a sweatband.

"What's that?" Arc asked, pointing at the clay sculpture.

"It's my Sonichu medallion," Christian replied snootily, putting on the necklace.

"Your what?" Arc asked, perplexed.

"Sonichu! I'm the original creator."

Arc decided to drop the topic. He would never get a straight answer from this man, he was sure.

The contestants approached the host. There was a log several feet in front of him, which they stood behind.

"Welcome," announced Jeff, "To Survivor: Kujira-Jima. Guy in the clown shirt, what's your name?" he pointed to Christian, the frontmost contestant.

"You can call me Chris-chan, but my full name is--"

"Chris-chan, have you taken a moment to get to know the people around you?"

"Yeah. The pretty ladies are all so brave and caring, and the men are all JERKS!"

Sue, who was standing next to Christian, made 'TC' with her hands to the others then pointed a thumb at him. They nodded.

**Confession Cam - Sue - Baker**

"When I signed up for Survivor, I expected the people would be tricky, and the conditions would be exhaustingly hard. Fatty over there, let's just say he makes me think the conditions will be tricky."

**END**

"Girl with the black skirt, what's your name?" Jeff asked, pointing to Sue. She told him and he continued, "Do you think anyone's already made up their mind about who they like or don't like?"

"Well, Jeff, we hardly know each other's names; I don't think anything's really set," Sue replied with a shrug.

"Uh-huh..." Jeff said skeptically. "Before you got here, you were all given a number. Those who were given number one, please go over there." He pointed to the left of the contestants. "Number two, please go over there." He pointed to the other side.

The contestants moved to their places. Christian, Kenny, Langdon, Fabian, Stan, Erin, Ivy, Hilda, Cass and Jordan moved to the number one spot, while Brannon, Roscoe, Ian, Jude, Arc, Shanon, Chlamydia, Neri, Pat and Sue moved to the number two spot.

"Now each group must select two contestants who they believe are unfit to make the journey."

After some discussion, Jeff shouted, "Alright, time's up! Can the four selected contestants please step forward?" At this, Pat, Chlamydia, Jordan and Christian begrudgingly came to the front of their groups. Jeff held up a sack.

"This bag contains one red rock and one white rock. You two--" Jeff pointed to Pat and Chlamydia. "--please reach into the bag without looking and take one of the rocks each."

They each took a rock. Pat had the red one, while Chlamydia had the white one.

"Thank you. Put them back now. Pat, come over to my left. Chlamydia, to my right," Jeff instructed, and held the bag to the other two outcasts. "Jordan and Chris-chan, please do the same."

After Christian had his sleeves untied, they drew the rocks and Jordan got red, Chris white. They joined Pat and Chlamydia respectively while Jeff continued.

"Now, Chris-chan and Chlamydia," Jeff said, holding up a second sack, "this bag has some more rocks in it. The color of the rock each of you chooses will determine your tribe." The others groaned and cursed.

They drew once again, both getting blue.

"Alright, you are both going to be on the blue team," Jeff announced, while an assistant handed them each a blue buff. Chlamydia wore her buff as a headband while Chris took his shirt and necklace off and put his on over his bulging chest, before replacing the necklace and tying his shirt around his neck like a cape.

"The rest of you, come get your buffs." Jeff tossed another bag to each group. They took out their buffs and noticed that each bag contained multiple colors.

"What's up with this, Jeff?" Brannon asked, pointedly holding his blue buff against Roscoe's red buff and Jude's white buff. He looked over and saw group one also had red, white and blue buffs among them.

"The two groups you were assigned to are _not_ going to be the tribes. Everyone sort yourselves into your tribes."

Soon, the contestants had separated into three new groups: one with blue buffs, one with white and one red.

Jeff pointed to the red tribe: Roscoe, Langdon and Arc, who had their buffs on their wrists, Hilda, who had her buff over her stomach, Erin, who was wearing her buff as an anklet and Neri, who was wearing her buff like a collar. "Red tribe, you are Senken, the tribe of foresight."

Next was the blue tribe: Brannon, who was wearing his buff as an elbow band, Fabian, who was using his buff to tie his hair, Ian, who was wearing his buff over his lower face and neck, Sue, who had removed her tunic and tied it round her waist, and had her buff on over her stomach, and of course Christian and Chlamydia. "Blue tribe," said Jeff, "you are Ato Chie, the tribe of hindsight."

Finally, the white tribe: Kenny, Jude and Ivy, buffs on wrists, Cass, buff securing her hair, Shanon, who had slid her buff up  _under_ her ample cleavage, and Stan, who had pulled his buff over his face and arms.

"Uh, Stan?" Ivy asked.

"IT"S STUCK!" Stan screamed through his buff, "I was try'na put it down my body and it got STUCK!"

Ivy rolled her eyes and pulled Stan's buff down to his stomach to match Hilda and Sue. Stan, however, neglected to remove his shirt.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter, and the rest of the season, is to be continued. Meanwhile, please leave any thoughts, suggestions and questions.


End file.
